<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>in your own time by doublejoint</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27033223">in your own time</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/doublejoint/pseuds/doublejoint'>doublejoint</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>peachtober 2020 [13]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Post-Season/Series 01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 17:48:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,159</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27033223</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/doublejoint/pseuds/doublejoint</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It's nice, Din thinks, to be wanted.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Baby Yoda &amp; The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>peachtober 2020 [13]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1953295</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>64</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>in your own time</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>#peachtober day 13: Horn</p><p>(mudhorn clan obv)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The kid is smart, picks up on things quick. Din doesn’t remember being that age (that development level, rather, he supposes), so he can’t say whether he was like that or not, but he’d place his credits on not. But what he does remember from being a kid, on a ship, is learning, fitting himself into the routines, someone older showing him how to turn a wrench, how to clean oil from his hands. The older members of the clan, sitting, awake under their helmets, into the night, while he cleaned up or sat and listened to their occasional words. His lot aren’t a talkative bunch, but sometimes he wonders if he shouldn’t talk more. The kid can’t really speak yet; how else is he going to learn? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The same way, Din supposes, that he does everything else, in his own way and on his own time. Din shows him a tool--a wrench, a screwdriver, a hammer--says the name, what it’s for, shows how to use it--and the kid’s already walking off, sticking a screw in his mouth, pulling at levers. Aren’t kids supposed to want to imitate authority figures? Well, at that point, the jokes just write themselves. Din sighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Open your mouth. It’s not food.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kid complies, and spits the screw into his palm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You hungry? Is that why you put it in your mouth?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kid shakes his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, why’d you do it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No answer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Talk when you’re ready, I guess,” says Din.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>The town where his next target is supposed to be turns up no leads, so Din makes his way to the outskirts. In the armor, it’s obvious what he’s here for, but he’s made it clear he’s here for a particular person, not to his knowledge someone with local ties. The farmers might be more willing to give him something to go on; they might like the company. Or they might not want the company of someone who won’t break bread with them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din doesn’t know how long he’s going to be gone, so he takes the kid with him, buys him a roasted frog on a stick at the market, just as it closes. The kid nibbles at it, not at all the voracious way he pounces on the live ones--but maybe that’s the fun of it, for him, the hunt. (Maybe--if Din doesn’t find whatever group of mystics he comes from, he’d make a decent bounty hunter. But it’s not the kind of life he wants to point a kid toward, not this kid.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No one answers at the first farmhouse, but at the second, a sullen human teenager beckons them in and calls for his parents. The kid grabs at the drying fruits and vegetables hanging from the ceiling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” says Din.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(He does not explicitly forbid the hand-waving touchless grabbing, because he doesn’t really want to give the kid any ideas right now.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The teenager’s mother (presumably his mother, anyway) comes in through a doorway closed off by a curtain, drying her hands on a fraying apron, still looking back into the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you’re that bounty hunter who they said was in town,” she says, quite matter-of-factly. “I’m assuming you’re not here to kill me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” says Din. “I’m looking for information.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kid grabs, again, at a gourd hanging from the ceiling, just out of his reach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey. No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The farmer laughs, her voice and face instantly softening. “Untie it; let him play with it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din reaches up and fumbles with the loose twine holding the gourd in place, and then pulls it down. It rattles, clearly already dried, its seeds shaking inside. He lets the kid pick it up, gnaw on it, smack it against his shoulder (won’t do a thing to beskar). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She gives him more of a lead than he’s expecting, so-called rumors hedged with maybes and possibilities, but there’s more meat on them than the raw words imply. When he moves to leave, she asks him twice if he’s sure he won’t join her and her family for dinner--and, well, it’s her and her wife and the teenager and another one, no droids, a house where the kid’s stayed reasonably occupied, still fascinated with his gourd.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not going to kill someone in front of your baby, are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a tough world,” says Din (he’d put the kid in his carrier, or try to get him to stay there anyway). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How long will you be out there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tough to say,” says Din.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(She could be wrong; the target could be long-gone; he could end up in a long standoff--or it could be over very quickly.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why don’t you leave your kid here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kid smacks Din’s shoulder with the gourd again and giggles. Din pauses. This could all be a con to get the kid; this farmer and her family could be working for the target, with the target. It could backfire terribly. They could have frightened off the real owners of this house and just be pretending, but--nothing seems off. The kid looks happy. And the middle of a shootout is no place for him, no matter how well he can protect himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re okay with that?” Din says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“More than the alternative.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Din says. “Thanks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turns to the kid and looks squarely at him. “Don’t get into trouble.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kid clutches at his arm, as if he knows Din’s about to leave, and he doesn’t want him to go. Can he sense something’s gone awry? Is this part of his telekinesis?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you hungry?” says the farmer. “We’ve got hot soup.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At this, the kid’s ears perk up; Din hands him over to the farmer and there’s no complaint whatsoever. Just a kid being a kid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry, I’ll be back as soon as I can.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kid’s not even listening anymore, gnawing at the gourd again.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Everything is, more or less, as Din had anticipated it. The target’s in the general area, suspicious, but his droids are taken out easily and without him noticing. If Din didn’t need a body, he could easily blow up the area with a grenade, but a long-range blaster does the deal. Easy, but not too easy, well within his pay grade.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He returns to the farm in the morning, the body on the back of his rented speeder, wrapped up in bulky fabric and a tarp on top of that, though it’s probably obvious what it is. It’s drizzling, a little bit cold. The kid is playing peek-a-boo with the younger teenager out front, under an overhang where he can’t get wet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell your folks thanks,” Din says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The teenager shrugs. They’re probably out working the farm, and Din would really rather not stay and chat. The kid seems fine, but also eager to hop on the speeder and go, pulling at Din’s leg. It’s nice, Din thinks, to be wanted. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>